


Seasons

by OwlQuill



Series: [Strange Magic Canon Expansion] [4]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Weird Biology, overwintering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:51:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8662852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlQuill/pseuds/OwlQuill
Summary: It's late Summer, Bog and Marianne enjoy a bit of time together, and talk about the future.





	

Spring had passed and summer had risen, with the light and heat it always brought. This summer also brought changes. The new Castle of the Dark Forest was far from finished, but it was livable. The old King had a new name. He could not be known as the Bog King any more, since he did not live by a bog, and his subjects had taken to referring to him as Oak King. He also had lifted the decade-old ban on “love” and started supporting more open relations between the Dark Forest and the neighbouring Fair Fields. All inhabitants of the Dark Forest who had an opinion on this agreed they knew why.

King Dagda, the so-called Fairy King, monarch of the Fair Fields, had insisted that Marianne spent more time with her duties as future ruler than she had in the past year. And she did. But she also reminded him of how often he had told her she should go out more often to find a future king, and used it as leverage to combine the diplomatic matter of talking to the King of the Dark Forest about relations between the realms with the private matter of spending time with Bog, the man she was by now pretty sure she truly loved. She suspected getting out and dealing with with her did him good, too, at least Griselda had let on things to that effect.

Whether he showed her a new corner of his realm or they talked about history, policy, or just embarrassing things someone had done at a public gathering, they enjoyed these little time-outs. A particular treat, though, were spars. 

Bog wielding the copper-and-amber sceptre marking him as the ruler of his realm with power and expertise, Marianne wielding her bright steel sword with speed and precision, they both learned, and drove each other to exhaustion, laughing and taunting. 

One day when they did not want spectators, they had retreated from castle and paths and fought in the air above a nearly standing rivulet of water brown with tannins. Bog was the one to call it off, worried Marianne would drive herself to hard and fall or get knocked into the water somehow. She had told him in the past that her wings would soak up water and leave her grounded for days. 

“So I win this one,” Marianne declared with a grin. 

“If it makes you feel better.” Bog’s voice was dry, but he laughed when, after sheathing her sword, Marianne launched herself at him and caught him in a hug. 

Both retreated together to the nearest thick branch and sat on it. Bog leaned his staff against the trunk and spread his wings far enough he could lean against the trunk himself, Marianne sat between his legs and leaned against his chest, her wings, surprisingly resilient when they were slack, cushioning her back against the armour plates of his chest. The first few times they had tried this there had been a few accidents, mostly the very mobile plates between Bog’s arms and chest pinching the edge of her wings, but they had enough practice by now. Bog rested his hands on his propped-up knees and enjoyed the companionable silence, the heat rising from Marianne’s exherted muscles, and the light smell of her sweat. He still couldn’t quite believe He’d found someone who’d want to be that close to him. 

After a short while Marianne started talking. “Seems like the seasons are starting to change again.” At Bog’s inquisitive hum, she pointed towards the rivulet with her chin. A few yellow willow leaves were drifting on its surface, another one sailing from above as they watched. 

“Yes. Time marches on, always.” Autumn meant harvest, and it meant… “Are you interested in joining one of our hunts in late autumn?” 

“I’m not sure yet. Don’t want to be in the way and ruin things.” 

“Oh, there always are some spring-fresh beginners along on a squirrel hunt. as things go, those aren’t that dangerous. And the nut harvest seems like it will be bigger than usual, so the hunt isn’t crucial this year.” 

“Tending towards yes, then. If it’s not too late in the season.” Her voice was more quiet and even than Bog was used to, almost melancholy, and there was a tension in her body he could not guess the reason for. 

Covering Marianne’s hand with one of his, he asked, “Is anything wrong?” 

She shook her head, her hair tickling his chin. “Say… how do goblins spend the winter, exactly?” 

Oh. Bog had known the topic would come up eventually. He had no idea how it worked for fairies, so, as of yet, he had no idea if they would be separated for months, or not. “Well, we lay in supplies that last, like nuts and smoked meat, and we retreat underground. I’ve not shown you these tunnels yet because, well, after three or four months, I get sick of them.” 

“Underground? Isn’t that colder than above ground?” It had been like that in the caves and burrows Bog had shown her. 

“Not in winter. I mean, it is pretty cool, but if you dig deep enough, there are levels where it never gets cold enough to freeze the soil.” 

“But it’s dark.” 

“There’s firewood among the supplies. And glowstones. During winter, we tend to sleep whole days, sometimes weeks at a time, anyway.” 

“Ah.” Marianne drew up her knees and leaned forward to rest her chin on them. 

“So, what about fairies?” 

The question startled Marianne. “What?” 

“How do fairies spend the winter?” 

“Oh, it’s similar. Just that our favourite food to store is honey. And we don’t go underground, but we insulate the openings in the Palace, some of the fairies living elsewhere move in - kind of a sharing body heat deal, you know. And, um…” She trailed off with a sigh. 

“Um?” Bog couldn’t keep the hint of amusement out of his voice, or the smirk off his face as he leaned forward and to the side to get a look at her face. His Tough Girl getting tongue-tied didn’t happen often any more. “Um what?” 

Marianne turned her face away from him and scratched the back of her head. 

Bog went on, “Sleep ten people to a pile to keep each other warm?” 

“No! Hch. Just give me a moment.” 

He fell silent, and stroked Marianne’s arm in a slow rhythm. He couldn’t guess what upset her so. 

After a deep breath, Marianne said, “OK, let me start elsewhere. You haven’t fallen for me for my looks, have you?” 

That left Bog utterly baffled at what that had to do with anything. He eventually answered, “You know what the most beautiful creature I ever saw looks like. What do you two have in common? Long legs maybe.” 

“OK.”

“Mind… I would be lying if I said I did not think your eyes beautiful. Or your wings. Those look amazing when the light shines through them.” 

Marianne twitched, pulling her shoulders up. Bog could see the edge of a grimace on her face. Apparently not what she had wanted to hear, not really. 

“Are you fishing for compliments?” 

She moved her head from side to side. Yes? No? Maybe? “Fishing for reassurance?” 

“That you are beautiful?” 

“That you don’t like me for my looks.” 

“Marianne. What impressed me about you was your courage. Your voice. Your determination, and your devotion to your sister. The way you moved, and put all of you behind your attacks.” 

Marianne had brightened up a little, twisting around to look at him, but at his last sentence turned forward again and covered her eyes with her hands, her ears drooping. “Argh! I can’t do this!” 

After a few moments of her not elaborating, Bog pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her head. “I think we should not move away from here until you’ve explained what’s bothering you.” 

“Nooo, I shouldn’t have started.” She tried to pull away once, then fell silent and slack back against him. That was disturbing. What he had expected was playful cursing and wrestling. 

“Marianne?” 

Like admitting defeat, she muttered, “We grow fur, all right?” 

“That’s the horrible secret? You grow winter fur?” 

“Yes.” 

“I really doubt seeing you with more hair will change my feelings for you. I find your fuzz is rather delightful.” He very lightly stroked a knuckle along the edge of Marianne’s jaw. 

“Hrm. I hate the winter fur. I feel so much heavier. It grows all over my wings. Even when it’s not too cold to fly, flying is so much more difficult. I can’t move properly.” She sounded absolutely miserable. “I won’t be a challenge.” 

Bog sighed and took her hands gently, rubbing her backs with his thumbs. “Winter is no time for more exertion than necessary, anyway. It could mean starving before spring comes.” 

Marianne gave a surprised little gasp. She had obviously never thought of that. Well, Bog thought, the last famine winter was so long ago she would have been too young to remember, and the fairy nobility was probably better shielded from the general unpleasantness of the season than most people. 

“Well. That solves that problem. Leaving us with the question if there’s a way to not be separated for four months of every year.” 

“I cannot leave my people alone for the winter—” 

“—even if you wanted to spend it among fairies—” 

“—and I don’t know if you can, or even if you want to, spend Winter among goblins.” 

Marianne pulled herself free and whipped around and asked, with burr of irritation in her voice. “Are you suggesting I can’t deal with the company of goblins?” 

Bog raised his hands in surrender. “I meant that I don’t know if you have duties at home.” 

“Sorry.” She sighed and relaxed. “I do wonder if my father wants to step up my duties this year, maybe even just to keep me from overwintering elsewhere. I’ll have to find a way to ask him. Subtly.” 

When Bog snorted, she waved a long index finger at him. “I can do subtle!” 

“I believe you.” It lifted his heart seeing her determined and making plans. It seemed more like her. He wondered how he could help. “Maybe I should tell you more about our winters. Just what it’s like. Maybe you could ask Mother and some others, too.” 

“Yes.” She offered her hand to help him up, and they did not let go of each other’s hands once standing face to face, as far as their height difference allowed. “Maybe you could show me that place where you stay during the winter?” 

“Yes. Not today, the burrow is extensive and it’s getting late.” 

She considered for a moment. “Day after tomorrow?” 

“That works.” 

“It’s a date!” She grinned at him, and he found himself grinning back and chuckling. 

Bog leaned in and kissed her forehead. “As you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe suzie-guru first mentioned a headcanon that Bog is fascinated by Marianne's "peach-fuzz" body hair, and that idea was too adorable to not take root in my head. :D
> 
> Comments, including typo-spotting, are always appreciated. :)


End file.
